Flux
by thebrute7
Summary: Hermione followed Harry through the flames guarding the Philosopher's Stone, and her actions may well have caused more harm than good.


_**A/N**_ - I do not own, nor do I claim to own any aspect of the Harry Potter universe.

I would like to give a big thank you to Jormungandr, Lungs and T3t for their help with this piece, as well as the rest of the Dark Lord Potter Community.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Flux<strong>_

_**Chapter One**_

Harry opened his eyes to a world that was little more than a blur. His scar throbbed and his whole body ached with phantom pain. A pair of glasses hovered motionless in the air overhead.

'That's odd,' Harry thought. Behind the glasses, the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore shifted into focus.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said with a cheerful twinkle in his eye. "It is good to see you awake."

Harry stared, mind blank, until the events of the third floor corridor rushed into his mind. "Sir! The Stone… It was Quirrell. He's got the Stone!"

"Calm yourself, my boy. It seems you are a bit behind the times. Quirrell does not possess the Philosopher's Stone." Dumbledore's peaceful voice lent a little strength to Harry.

"Then who does? Sir–"

"Calm yourself Harry, or doubtless Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out."

Harry gave a slow nod and leaned back into a comfortable pillow with a sigh. He was in the hospital wing, lying on a soft bed that felt far too welcoming. Next to him was a table piled high with candies and treats. To his left, on an identical bed, and also with a table of treats, though a lesser quantity, was Hermione, curled into a ball and fast asleep.

Harry jolted upright. "Hermione! Professor, is she alright?" Harry started to speak at a frantic pace. "She was hit by a curse, I don't know what it was… She has to be alright sir, it was my fault that she was... I don't think I could ever forg-"

Dumbledore touched Harry's leg, diverting his train of stream of conciousness. "She will be fine. Madam Pomfrey has assured me that she shall recover completely."

Harry clenched his eyelids shut and breathed out a long breath. "How long?" he asked. "How long have I been out?"

"A little under twenty four hours, Harry. Madam Pomfrey insisted that I let you rest."

Harry vowed to thank Madam Pomfrey the next time he saw her. "Sir, would you answer some questions?"

"I would be glad to," Dumbledore replied. "But first, though it pains me to ask this, I need you to recount for me what occurred on the third floor. I was only able to get part of the story from Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger cannot be woken at this time."

Harry leaned forward and rested his elbows on his legs. He supposed that Dumbledore already had the story up to the chess game if he had spoken to Ron. "Well, after we beat the chess set…"

"Harry, I am afraid that I am in need of a more... shall we say, complete story. Would you accompany me to my office?"

"Am I allowed to leave?" Harry glanced into Madam Pomfrey's office.

"I have her permission to remove you for this. You will have to return afterward, I am afraid."

Harry pushed the sheets from his body and slipped off the side of the bed. He pulled on his shoes while Dumbledore waited patiently, twirling the end of his beard around his index finger.

"Professor, what happened to the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry asked as he followed Dumbledore out of the hospital wing and towards his office.

Dumbledore gave Harry a solemn look, the twinkle missing from his eyes. "It is gone. I returned to Hogwarts just as Quirrell was attempting to flee. He left me with no choice, and I was forced to kill him just as he activated a Portkey."

Harry froze, shocked by Dumbledore's admission. He sped up his pace until he was walking side-by-side with Dumbledore again.

"I understand," Dumbledore whispered. His quiet, but strong voice lent a sense of gravity to his words. "To kill someone is one of life's great tragedies, Harry, and one that I dearly hope you never need face. But he gave me no other option. Allowing him to escape with the Stone was unacceptable. The Portkey activated nonetheless, taking Quirrell's body, and the Stone, to wherever it was intended to go, but Voldemort's spirit was left behind."

"So the Stone is… missing?" Harry half asked, half concluded. "And what's a Portkey?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, in answer to Harry's first question. "But even I, with all my skill, cannot track a Portkey." He fell silent as they approached the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"Sherbet Lemon," Dumbledore stated out of the blue; much to Harry's confusion.

The gargoyle shifted out of the way with the grating sound of stone on stone, and the wall behind it split in two, revealing a spiral staircase that twisted smoothly upward, much like an escalator. Harry realized that Dumbledore's seemingly random words were the password. He shook his head; Dumbledore was just too odd at times.

"It is a type of muggle sweet that I am rather fond of." Dumbledore explained as Harry followed him onto the stairwell. "To answer your other question, a Portkey is a form of magical transportation; one that is quite difficult to describe to someone who has never experienced it."

At the top of the staircase, Dumbledore pushed open the door to his office. It was made of gleaming oak, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. He motioned Harry inside.

Harry entered and felt compelled to look around. One thing was quite certain, and that was that Dumbledore's office was very interesting. A cacophony of little noises assaulted his ears, coming from a series of glittering silver instruments that emitted puffs of smoke at irregular intervals. Portraits covered the walls; presumably they were past headmasters and headmistresses, all of which were sleeping in their frames. An ornate golden bird perch sat to the left of a claw-footed desk.

"Do you have an owl, sir?" Harry asked as he examined the rather ornate perch.

"I have a phoenix companion, Harry. He seems to be away now, but perhaps one day I shall introduce you to him."

Harry smiled; he thought he would like that, and resolved to ask Hermione if she knew anything about phoenixes later. He walked over to stand by Dumbledore, who was pulling out a shallow-bottomed stone basin. The stone was perfectly smooth, not like the wash-basins in the Gryffindor baths, and etched into the rim of the bowl was an elaborate chain of symbols that Harry didn't recognize. The basin had sat on a circular shelf. On the shelves above and below it were dozens upon dozens of crystal phials. They were slim and tall, similar to the test-tubes that he had seen in primary school, and each was filled with dimly shimmering blue and silver mist. Dumbledore set the basin on a spindle-legged desk next to the shelves.

"This," Dumbledore said, beckoning Harry closer with one hand, "is a Pensieve. It is a rare and expensive artifact that allows one to store and view memories, both one's own and other's."

Harry observed the unassuming object in awe. A thin haze was pooled in the bottom of the Pensieve, just a shade too dark and slightly too thick to be steam.

"This is how I would like you to show me what occurred. If I may?" Dumbledore drew his wand. "Please focus on the events that took place yesterday, starting from Professor Snape's puzzle, if you would."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He felt Dumbledore's wand touch his temple, and then draw away. A rather confusing feeling spread across his forehead, like air being pulled over his skin towards a single point. He opened his eyes, and saw a long strand of that same blue-silver mist attached to the end of Dumbledore's wand. Dumbledore carefully let the strand down into the bowl, where it mixed with the haze and expanded until it was filling the entire bowl; now nothing more than light fog rather than dense mist.

"Please wait for me to finish. I would not have you relive these events if you do not have to."

Harry let out a relieved breath, not wanting to remember what had happened at all, and sat down on a three legged stool to wait.

Dumbledore gave Harry a reassuring smile and lowered his face into the basin…

* * *

><p>Harry shifted from foot to foot, impatient and frustrated, as he watched Hermione. Before him were seven bottles of varying size; from a small round flask to a wine bottle in shape. He watched as Hermione looked from the riddle, written on a piece of yellow parchment, to the bottles and back again. She bit her bottom lip, exposing her buckteeth; it was an action that Harry had come to associate with intense concentration, from all the time spent watching her write essays.<p>

"Got it!" She cried in triumph. She reached out and snatched up the smallest. "This one will get us through the black fire."

Harry looked at the bottle. "There's only enough for one of us; it's hardly one swallow." He gave Hermione a grave look. "Which one will get you back?"

Hermione pointed out a round bottle at the end of the line.

"Drink that. No, listen." Harry grabbed Hermione's wrist and met her eyes, daring her to argue with him. "Go back and get Ron. Send Hedwig to Dumbledore, we need him here."

"But, Harry, what if You-Know-Who is there?"

"I was lucky once." Harry pointed to his scar. "Who knows, maybe I'll get lucky again."

Hermione's lip trembled. She dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

"Hermione!"

"Harry, you're a great wizard, you know."

Harry flushed, unused to such praise from Hermione. He mumbled something that was lost in her bushy hair as she released her grip.

"Be careful, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry gave an earnest nod as he took the smallest bottle from Hermione's hand. He popped out the cork and held it up. A thick vapour twisted up from the phial, reminding him of a Hair-Loss Potion he had brewed in Professor Snape's class.

"Cheers," he joked and downed a mouthful of the potion. He set the bottle back on the table, a few inconsequential drops of the liquid remaining at the bottom.

Harry shuddered and drew in a gasping breath. It was as though his entire body had been suddenly submerged in ice water.

"It's… it's not poison?" Hermione's voice was small, timid; and Harry was almost certain that he could hear Hermione start to panic at the last word.

Harry shook his head. "Just… cold. Like ice."

He gave Hermione one last small smile and walked, with a lot more confidence than he really felt, into the black fire. For a moment all he could see was the black flames lapping at his body before he crossed over to the other side.

Unthinking, he gasped just a little too loud.

Professor Quirrell turned around, startled by the sound. "Ah... I had wondered whether I would be seeing you here, Harry Potter."

"But I thought – Snape –"

"Severus?" Quirrell laughed, cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful, the way he swoops around like an overgrown bat, intimidating everything in sight. Next to him who would suspect p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

"But Snape tried to kill me!" Harry protested, thinking back to the Quidditch match. This was all wrong. It was supposed to be Snape.

"No, no, no. _I _tried to kill you." Quirrell corrected Harry. "I would have succeeded too, if it weren't for your little friend Ms. Granger; knocking me over as she rushed to set Snape's robes alight. Broke my eye contact. I would have had you off of that broom in a few more moments. Would have had you earlier too, if it weren't for Snape muttering his ineffectual little counter-curse."

"Snape was trying to save me?"

"Of course." Quirrell walked closer. "Why did you think he volunteered to referee the next match? He wanted to insure I didn't try again. Not that he needed to, since Dumbledore was watching me far too closely to try anything."

"Such a waste." Quirrell brandished his sprang forth from the tip and wrapped, uncomfortably tight, around Harry.

"You're just too nosy, Potter. Scurrying around the castle on Halloween like that. For all I knew, you might have seen me heading to the third floor to test the stone's defenses."

Harry's lip curled up and he snarled at Quirrell. "It was _you _who let the troll in?" He clenched his left hand, causing his nails to dig into the flesh of his palm as he remembered the troll trying to kill Hermione.

"Indeed. I have a special gift with trolls," said Quirrell. "Useful creatures, even if they are almost too stupid to be allowed to live. After all, it didn't even manage to hurt a single one of you." Quirrell threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "Couldn't even kill one annoying little mudblood."

He took a quick step closer to Harry and tilted his head up, so that Harry was looking him in the eye. "My master has taught me many things Potter, but the most important was that there are only two types of people in the world. There are those with power and those without. There is no good or evil, Harry. No right or wrong. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. Now wait quietly while I examine this mirror."

Quirrell turned his back to Harry and strode with an arrogant gait away to the center of the room.

Harry looked beyond Quirrell for the first time, and saw the Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to the Stone… But how do I get it?"

He paced around the mirror, tracing the designs on the mirror with his wand.

A weak, pained voice came from behind Harry.

"E-Expelliarmus." Hermione stuttered out the incantation in desperation, having just stumbled out of the black fire. Her robes were burnt completely away in patches, almost completely gone at the bottom, and some of her hair smoldered at the tips. A few tears ran in streaks down her face.

Quirrell twisted around in a flash and stepped to the side. Hermione's spell hit the mirror. It rattled, but was otherwise unaffected.

He stepped forward with a dark glint in his eye and waved his wand, casting the same spell back at Hermione. It wrenched her wand out of her hand and sent it flying back towards the fire. It skittered across the cold stone and rolled to a stop less than a meter from the black flames and certain destruction..

The corner of Quirrell's lip curled up into a sneer. "And we are joined by the _mudblood_."

Conjured ropes bound Hermione securely. She let out a squeak of pain as the bindings twisted themselves tighter. What was left of the bottom of her robes hiked up as the ropes tightened, and Harry winced at the sight of the painful burns and blisters that covered the bulk of Hermione's legs.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off in mid-syllable by Quirrell Silencing her.

"Tell me, Harry, where is the third member of your little group? Ronald?" Quirrell gave Harry a self-satisfied look. "I do hope that nothing has _happened _to him. Some of those defenses were rather dangerous weren't they?"

"Now, just stay there and don't interrupt me this time." Quirrell returned to his pacing around the mirror and muttering.

"Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this… but he's in London… I'll be far away before he gets back..."

Harry struggled against his ropes, more out of a need to do something than any real hope of escaping. The only thing he could think to do was distract Quirrell from the mirror, give Dumbledore time to get back.

"But I thought Snape hated me?"

"Of course he hates you," Quirrell said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "How could he not? He went to school with your father, and they _loathed _each other; and you're the spitting image of him. But he doesn't want you dead, more's the pity."

Quirrell slapped his hand hard onto the mirror, staring into it intently.

"I see myself presenting the Stone to my master… but how do I get it?" He let out a vicious curse. "The Stone is _inside_! It is inside the mirror. Do I need to break it?"

Quirrell resumed his muttering, to low for Harry to make out. Harry tried to edge to the side to look in the mirror, but the ropes were too tight and he fell over with a short cry.

Quirrell ignored him. "What does the mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master."

To Harry's horror, a voice responded to Quirrell. It seemed to come from Quirrell himself, heavy and dark.

"Use the boy…"

Quirrell rounded on Harry and stalked over to him. He took Harry's wand from his hand and tossed it off to one side without even looking to see where it landed, before dragging Harry over to the mirror and vanishing his bonds.

Harry averted his eyes.

"Look, Potter!" Quirrell commanded.

Harry shook his head.

Quirrell raised his wand and pointed it at Harry's left arm. **"**_Ossis Fragmen."_

Harry cried out as the bones in his upper arm fractured. The sudden onset of pain caused him to drop to his knees.

"Look!"

Harry cradled his broken arm close to his body and looked into the Mirror of Erised against his better judgement.

He saw his reflection, pale and scared, holding his arm close. Then his reflection smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a blood-red Stone. Then, with a wink, he replaced it. At the same instant, Harry felt a weight drop into his trouser pocket. Somehow, he had gotten the Stone.

"Well?" Quirrell demanded. "What do you see?"

Harry gulped and devised a lie. "I… I am shaking hands with Dumbledore; I've won the House Cup for Gryffindor."

Quirrell grabbed Harry's shoulder in a firm grip and tugged him around. Harry bit back a scream as his shattered arm was jostled.

"You are lying. What. Did. You. See?"

Harry clamped his mouth shut.

Quirrell raised his hand, presumably to strike him, when the voice spoke again.

"Let me speak to him…"

"Master, you are not strong enough."

"I am strong enough… for this…'

Harry froze in place as Quirrell reached up with almost exaggerated slowness and began to unravel his turban. It fell away and Quirrell turned on the spot.

Harry would have screamed, but the situation was too terrifying. Where the back of Quirrell's head should have been, there was instead a face; chalk white, with slits for nostrils and glaring red eyes. Harry took a step back.

"Harry Potter…" it whispered. Its voice was rasping and overflowing with malevolent intent, the same sort of voice Harry had heard the villains in Dudley's television shows speak in. But this wasn't a fantasy, it was all too real, and far, far more frightening.

"See what I have become…" the face said. "A mere shadow of my former self… I must share with another to have a body… but there have always been fools willing to give me what I need. Unicorn blood has given me strength, but it cannot give me back a body of my own… but once I have the Stone and the Elixir of Life I will be able to craft a body of my own… a more powerful body. Now, why don't you give me the Stone that is in your pocket?"

Harry took another step back, startled by the face's knowledge that he held the Stone.

"Don't be a fool, boy," the face rasped. "Save your own life and join me. Otherwise you'll meet the same fate as your parents… they died begging me for mercy."

Harry stared in the deep red eyes of Voldemort and shook his head. "You're lying."

"You know I am not." Voldemort's voice was softer, almost soothing.

Quirrell waved his wand, and Harry heard the sound of rope on stone as Hermione was dragged across the floor by an invisible force, coming to a stop in front of Quirrell, who removed the Silencing Charm from her. She twisted and struggled in place, fighting to no avail against her bindings.

"Give me the Stone." Voldemort repeated.

"Don't, Harry!"

Harry mustered his courage and spoke with as much defiance as he could.** "**Never."

Voldemort's gaze hardened and, to Harry's growing terror, Quirrell turned around so that Voldemort was looming over Hermione instead.

"I am sorry my dear," Voldemort whispered, just loud enough for both to hear, false compassion dripping from his every word. He glanced back to Harry. "It seems that you need some further… _encouragement_."

"_Crucio!"_

Hermione screamed.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but it did nothing to weaken the horrible screams echoing in his head.

Hermione's cries echoed in the room as she writhed on the floor. After what couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but seemed so much longer, Quirrell released the spell, and the screams were replaced with sobs.

"Give me the Stone," the parasite said again. "Or I will have Quirrell do far worse to her."

Harry looked at Hermione, whose sobs had quieted and was now simply shuddering in place. It was one thing to give up his own life to stop Voldemort, but could he choose to give up his friend's?

Voldemort's eyes narrowed and Quirrell raised his wand again. Harry couldn't make out the incantation, but a dull blur rushed from Quirrell's wand and hit Hermione in the stomach.

Her screams started anew.

"She will die if you do not give me the Stone." It was not a threat, Harry could tell. It was fact, pure and simple.

He looked to Hermione, whose eyes were blurred with pain. She clutched at her stomach and tears rolled down her cheeks. Harry's right hand wrapped firm around the Stone in his pocket, and he held onto it as though it could save him.

"Stop it," Harry whispered. He repeated himself, louder. "Stop!"

A moment passed, then Quirrell's wand moved again. Hermione's screaming ceased.

Harry reached into his pocket and removed the Philosopher's Stone.

He walked closer to Voldemort and, with a great deal of trepidation, set the Stone on the ground.

"A wise choice," Voldemort rasped. Quirrell stepped backwards past the stone, squatted down and picked it up. He waved his wand in an intricate pattern, speaking an incantation too soft to make out, and the black flames disappeared.

"Harry…" Voldemort said, his glowing eyes boring deep into Harry's. "We will meet again... some day."

Quirrell turned around and pointed his wand at Harry.

"_Crucio."_

It was pain. Pain beyond anything Harry could imagine, beyond anything he could ever describe. His bones were melting, his head was on fire, his scar was splitting open… he wanted it to end… for him to die… anything to stop the pain. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Voldemort laughed a dark, cold laugh. "A parting gift… Remember, Potter, no one defies Lord Voldemort." With the Philosopher's Stone in one hand and his wand in the other, he loomed over the pair of helpless children.

Quirrell looked at Harry with a sort of vicious satisfaction, and raised his wand again, only to stop with a look of shock on his face. "But..." he whispered, sounding much like a whining child.

Harry struggled to push himself up with one good arm, ignoring the vehement protests of his body, wracked as it was by violent shudders. Harry turned his head to glare at Voldemort, before his vision went red. And then black.

The parasitic face of Lord Voldemort took on a hideous grin as it looked down at Harry.

"Goodbye… Harry Potter…"

* * *

><p>Dumbledore drew his face slowly up out of the pensieve and turned around, leaning his weight against the desk. He looked a great deal more weary than Harry had ever seen him.<p>

"I am so sorry that you had to go through such an ordeal, Harry," Dumbledore said after a long moment. "Your resolve and courage in the face of such danger was admirable."

Harry looked away and down at the floor. He spoke up in a soft tone, not really wanting to hear the answer to his question, but needing to know. "Did I do the wrong thing? S-Should I have not given him the Stone?"

Dumbledore stood and resettled his glasses over his eyes before placing a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.** "**That, Harry, is a question whose answer is not so simple."

Harry rubbed his fingers together, a nervous habit he had since he was very young. "What do you mean?"

"Our choices are what make us who we are." Dumbledore stepped away from Harry and went to sit in his chair behind the claw-foot desk. "Tell me, would you have been able to live with yourself had you not given him the Stone?"

Harry shook his head. "But, you said that the Stone is still out there, and so is You-Know-Who..."

"Call him Voldemort Harry," Dumbledore instructed. "Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself." He reached out and took a small sweet from a bowl on his table and popped it into his mouth. "Would you like one?"

Harry blinked, startled by the sudden change in topic. He took one of the sweets out of the bowl. It was a small chocolate, wrapped in a foil. "What is it?"

"A Kiss," Dumbledore replied. "They are made in America. A friend introduced me to them during the Grindelwald years. 1942, if I recall correctly."

Harry fell silent, savoring the chocolate as it melted in his mouth. "If... if Voldemort is still out there... then he could still come back? He could still find the Stone?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I will be spending a great deal of time searching for the Stone. Voldemort is weak now, having been expelled from his host. He will have to find a new one, one that is skilled enough to use the Philosopher's Stone to give him a body. That gives us time."

Harry shivered. The idea of that monster floating around out there unchecked was a frightening thought.

Dumbledore blinked and stared at Harry, as though he had just realized Harry was still there. "But that is not something that you need concern yourself with. You are still young, with your school years still ahead of you. Do not let your thoughts linger on Voldemort. After all, the year is almost over and you will be returning home for the summer."

Dumbledore's words hit Harry like a sharp blow. The school year was ending; there were only three days left. And then he would have to return to the constant work and neglect of Privet Drive. His thoughts raced to his first sight of Hogwarts, to the magic he had learned, and to the wondrous magical artifacts he had seen; the Mirror of Erised, his Invisibility Cloak, the Philosopher's Stone. He had friends for the first time in his life. At this thought he cast his eyes back down to the floor. He wasn't entirely certain that Hermione would forgive him for leading her into such pain. But how could he leave this world behind and go back to the dull, ordinary, routine of life with the Dursleys? His thoughts scattered when he heard Dumbledore's voice again.

"If that is all, my boy, then..."

"Sir." Harry said, flinching when he realized that he had interrupted Dumbledore. "There is something..."

"What is it?"

"I... I don't want to return to the Dursleys," Harry breathed out in a rush. "Is there any way that I could remain here, at Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore pursed his lips, leaned forward onto his elbows and pressed the tips of his fingers together. He peered at Harry through his wire-rimmed spectacles.

Harry started to shift in place. Dumbledore's gaze was unnerving.

"Surely, Harry, you wish to return home. To your family?"

Harry shook his head emphatically. "No sir." Harry breathed in deeply. Where had his Gryffindor courage gone? "I may live there... with the Dursleys... but Hogwarts is already more my home than Privet Drive ever was."

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair with a deep sigh. He glanced over at a particular series of silver instruments, and only his skill as an Occlumens kept him from showing shock on his face. Most of the instruments showed no change at all in the protections over Harry's home, save for one instrument which had ceased its constant stream of smoke. The others all puffed and whirred and spun every bit as strongly as they had the day he had placed Harry with the Dursleys in spite of Harry's declaration that Privet Drive was not his home. Dumbledore resisted the impulse to stare at Harry, and realized that he may have made a grievous error.

"Sir?"

"It may be possible Harry. It would require special permission from the Board of Governors, but maybe... Harry, I have a request to make of you, and I am afraid it will not be pleasant."

"Anything, Professor," Harry said, in spite of his rather well founded aversion to the idea of going through something that a wizard as great as Dumbledore would describe as unpleasant.

Dumbledore stood up and directed Harry to sit in a chair that he conjured out of thin air. "Harry I would like you to recall your experiences with the Dursleys, much like you did earlier. You are going to feel strange, try not to fight the feeling."

Harry gave a nervous nod and closed his eyes.

"Open your eyes, Harry."

He only had time to open his eyes a sliver before he heard Dumbledore's whisper.

"_Legilimens."_

Dumbledore stepped back and broke his eye contact after a minute or so.

Harry slumped down into the chair. He had relived dozens of memories in that short time. He couldn't help but glare, angry and confused, at Dumbledore for forcing him to relive those particular memories. As Dumbledore turned away from him, Harry thought he saw tears in the Headmaster's eyes, and his anger dimmed somewhat.

"I will see what I can do," Dumbledore said without turning around. "I think you should return to the hospital wing now. For what it is worth, I am truly sorry."

Dumbledore heard the click of his office door as Harry left, and then, a few moments later, the sound of stone scraping across stone as the gargoyle moved back into place. Once the sound had ceased, Dumbledore drew his wand and flicked it at the series of silver instruments that monitored the blood protections over Number 4, privet Drive.

Five devices rose into the air and circled around each other, before pressing together until they were nothing more than a single, shining, silvery mass. With another brief wave, the mass shot out the open window of his office, followed by a Reductor Curse.

A veritable cloud of silver fragments rained down on the courtyard below.

Dumbledore sat back down in his chair and performed a Summoning Charm. Parchment, envelopes, a quill, and an inkwell appeared on his desk. He leaned back and began dictating letters to convene the Board of Governors.

* * *

><p>I would like to take a moment to recommend to everyone who hasn't read <strong>Renegade Cause<strong> by **Silens Cursor **to do so. Complete at over 500,000 words, it is a paragon of Harry Potter fanfiction and stands head and shoulders above at least 99% of the writing out there.

Tell me what you think. Like it? Hate it? Want more? Thoughts? Suggestions?  
>It brightens my days immensely to know people like and care about what I wrote.<br>Please leave a review.


End file.
